


The Tower

by feralbasilthief



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Baby Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Good Parent Joxaren | The Joxter, Heavy Angst, Illnesses, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralbasilthief/pseuds/feralbasilthief
Summary: Up in the tower, Snufkin waits for his life to begin. Down below, Moomin hears a beautiful singing voice that leads him straight into adventure. Too bad a long drop and a witch stand in the way of a simple happily-ever-after.AKA the Rapunzel AU
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Joxaren | The Joxter/Mymlan | The Mymble, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 32
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so inspired by all the fairy tale type works in the Moomin fandom right now, that I had to write this.

The Joxter looked down at his son with terrified eyes. The child was tiny, oh so small, and pink, squirming gently against its mother’s breast. It was still bald and its eyes screwed shut tightly against the big, loud new world it was brought into. 

Mymble cooed lovingly at her fresh born baby, soft and melodic to calm his bout of fussing. The child immediately softened, falling back to sleep. 

Joxter could hardly believe the kit was his own, not due to lack of resemblance but because he didn’t expect it to be born at all. The Mymble hadn’t even shown until she was in her third trimester, something very unusual compared to her other pregnancies where she swelled up round with her litters quite instantly. It was a wonder she even knew she was expecting. Joxter had marvelled at her endless motherly intuition. 

Now that he was born, Joxter could see why she hadn’t shown. She was such a large and remarkable woman and this child was the complete opposite. He really wasn’t at all like his 36 other siblings, who came out sturdy and self-sufficient and stayed the same terrible size for years until they eventually shot up all at once. They were the perfect height to terrorise the Joxter, but this one- why this one couldn’t scare a beetle, Joxter was sure of it. Not with his cottony auburn hair and pudgy fingers. 

Joxter leaned over his lovely Mymble to give her a sweet, short kiss and brush a few of her own long strands away from her face though his eyes remained on his son. He rubbed his boy with a crooked knuckle, coarse black fur against rosy cheeks. The child let out a warbled cry like a little dove and pushed his tiny fists out in front of him to protest. 

“Magnificent,” he sighed, wondering how something the size of his hand could be so. The vice on his heart gripped tighter.

~~~

Most of the first year passed slowly. Snufkin took his time growing and it wasn’t quite fair. The other Mymble children ran around, trying to get him to play and go with them but Joxter would always be around to shoo them away. The farthest they had travelled since Snufkin’s birth was the back garden where Joxter would point to all the lovely and colourful things he could see. He would explain the names of Mymble’s flowers and sing short refrains to pass the time. He made up most of the words to his music, but Snufkin didn’t seem to mind, gazing at him in wonderment and chortling happily after he’d finished.

It didn’t do Joxter much good; he could feel the distant ache to travel beckon him and some days he would lay down, ragged and unable to sleep because his nature was too much for him. Too big for him to hold. 

Those were times he would hold his kit close and tell him all the stories of the world outside their cramped house. Even though he couldn’t yet speak, Snufkin’s big brown eyes would light up, shining with the wanderlust of Joxter’s youth. Perhaps they would travel together someday if his worry would allow it. 

Those dreams were quickly dashed that first winter. All too soon, the warm days and relaxation ran dry and the world had no further room for being gentle and kind.

“He’ll turn ‘round. Please, tell me he will. He’s not even a year old for heaven’s sake,” he begged thickly but the doctor only offered condolences that could do nothing to cure his son, let alone his breaking heart. 

The little Mumrik had grown fearfully ill, temperature skyrocketing much too high for the tiny thing. The Joxter fervently wiped the baby’s brow, trying not to cry as he sang small melodies to soothe the pain. This was his time to be strong for his son. He could let his emotions take him when he was healed. 

He clung to hope like a life preserver, even when his beloved Mymble had given it up. He had been angry at her when she first tried to comfort him. Felt betrayed that she had turned her back on the both of them. But it was so easy to forgive the Mymble and he did, even before the next night, when he heard her sobbing alone in her room as he was rocking his baby back to sleep for the fifth time in a row. 

Things only got worse as the flu developed into pneumonia, a death sentence to the infant. Joxter rarely slept, constantly cradling Snufkin. He desperately feared the thought of waking up to a cold kit. 

Snufkin did little more than flit between sleeping and crying. Food or drink would throw him into a coughing fit and he’d hack it all back up. 

“You need to eat, my love,” Joxter sobbed, nearly forcing the bottle into Snufkin’s mouth. 

The child just cried louder and hearing his wails were like torture to the Joxter. He flattened his ears to his head and gritted his teeth, feeling unplaceable rage burning under his skin.

“Please, eat Snufkin,” he pleaded to no avail. The kit didn’t even have enough strength to push away but he sputtered and coughed anytime the bottle touched his tongue. 

“You need to eat!” he shouted, suddenly unable to control himself. He shook violently, full-body tremors nearly causing him to lose his grip on his baby. He set Snufkin back in his bassinet as the child started again in his crying, startled by his father’s sudden outburst. Joxter slunk down in his chair, hugging his arms and feeling like a failure.

The days grew shorter and shorter as the winter dragged on and with it so did the Joxter’s patience. It was too painful for him to begin each day anew, so he slept by the cradle only when he could no longer stay awake. 

He tried to rationalise, perhaps Snufkin was just too small, perhaps the world just didn’t have space for him, but all that did was make him resent it all the more. It was cruel, making him watch his boy suffer as he slowly became closer to an inevitable death. 

It was as he was telling a story, a fantastic one with magical beasts and true love, that he came upon an idea. Crazy, hare-brained, but the minute he thought it, he couldn’t keep it out of his head. He turned it around, thinking of the disappointment to come from following the words of the old and batty, but the chance would be worth it. Anything would be worth his baby boy’s life. 

He had asked Mymble to watch over him the night he decided to go out. He struggled to hand him over, worried, and how silly that was when she was his mother and a very experienced mother at that. Snufkin looked so fragile, even more so dwarfed by his mother’s size, Joxter was afraid he would break like a china doll. He stood on his toes to give Mymble and then Snufkin a parting kiss, then set off into the village.

His target was not very far off, only a couple miles away, and it stood behind a tall stone wall. It was lucky he was a Mumrik then, with a knack for scaling anything that wanted to keep him out. As such, the climb wasn’t very difficult and he landed on the other side of the wall with a thud. The garden he was now stepping on was expansive, just like the stories had told. However, he was looking for just one thing.

The tales told of a magical flower, kept in the witch’s garden under a watchful eye. It could cure anything and legend had it that the witch even used it to reverse old age, keeping herself young and pretty for all time. 

They had been old wives’ tales, something he heard pass around the tavern when he was younger and more spirited. Yet when he remembered the story, he couldn’t get the possibility of it being real out of his mind. 

He scanned the garden, glad to have the aid of his night eyes, and it didn’t take long to see the large cage cloaked in heavy cloth. He moved towards it with itching fingers and ripped the covering from it. 

The Joxter squinted at the sudden light the flower gave off. It was beautiful, shining like sunlight in radiant gold beams. A clanking sound shook him from his enraptured stupor. 

He had meant only to take a petal off it, but in hearing the shouts and screams of the witch, he yanked the full flower straight from the ground. He was showered in dirt as he sprinted back across the lawn, bounding over the wall again in an impressive feat. The witch came in chase, hot on his heels as she steered her broom over her barrier.

“Thief!” she screeched in her gravelly voice. Joxter just kept running, fast as his legs would carry him. He tucked the flower in his coat, hiding its golden light from the peering eyes of neighbours as he ducked down another street. 

The second the witch was out of view, he turned into a narrow alley between two houses, panting his relief as the hag sped past him. He wasted no time in lollygagging about, leaping to his feet as soon as the world stopped spinning around him. He navigated between the crowded streets until he found the window he was looking for and slipped into the house. 

He pulled the shutters closed behind him before daring to pull the flower back out. It hadn’t lost any of its splendour despite its rough journey. He rejoiced in its soothing warmth. His kit would be okay. He had done it, something even madmen had warned against. He stole from the witch and it hadn’t even been that difficult. 

He burst through the door, grinning madly. 

“I got it. My dearest Mymble! We’ll be alright again, my love!” he announced, holding out his trophy. 

The Mymble did not greet him, however. Joxter’s heart dropped to the floor along with the flower. His Mymble was bawling, gently cradling their son’s head in her long, delicate fingers. 

“It’s too late, dear,” she wept through gut-wrenching gulps.

Joxter felt the moisture rise in his eyes, the only thing that assured him he wasn’t having a wicked nightmare of some sort. 

“No,” he rasped, “No, I can’t be.”

A hollow feeling swallowed him up as he raced into the kitchen to grab a mortar and pestle and a small bowl of water. He ripped the head of the flower from its stem, crushing it as fast as his hands could work. He could barely see the resulting liquid as he poured it shakily into the water. The potion glowed as brightly as the flower had, streaking his blurred vision with light. 

“Give him to me,” Joxter commanded. 

Mymble tried to protest, nearly raising her ever sweet voice at him as he pried their child from her. She begged him to stop, pleaded with him to use some rash thought and let him rest. 

Yet her anguished cries did nothing to keep him. 

Snufkin felt so light and so cold. His head lolled to the side and Joxter did his best to support it against his chest. 

“You just need to drink a little bit, darling,” he whispered to him, holding the cup to his mouth. 

Snufkin made no response, rising and falling limply with each of Joxter’s panicked breaths. 

“Please, Snufkin, you need to take your medicine and you’ll be all better.”

He tilted the glass up, hoping he could drink just a sip. The potion just dribbled out of his mouth, rolling down his chin and losing its glow as it dripped onto the floor. 

“Joxter, please, stop this,” Mymble pulled at the arm holding the cup.

He ripped it back, sloshing some more of the water on the ground. He rocked his son’s head back a bit, pressing on the sides of his mouth to get him to open up.

“Come on, love, I know it’s yucky but it’ll help you,” he soothed the kit’s still form. 

He poured as much of the potion as he could into his mouth, where it collected into a shiny pool. 

“Please, swallow, baby,” he grimaced, tears running down his nose to splash in droplets on Snufkin’s horribly serene face. 

“Joxter, you can’t- he’s- he’s gone, dear,” the Mymble gave up trying to hold him back, settling her paw on his hunched shoulder. He whipped around to glare daggers at her.

“How can you say that?!” he spat, before quickly turning back to fret over jostling Snufkin.

He couldn’t believe she would give up just like that and for the first time, his love for her faltered. Maybe it was because he was so young and naive himself, but Snufkin couldn’t die just like that, barely having a chance in the world. It wasn’t fair. 

“Daddy’s got you, baby. My wee little boy. You and I will travel the world one day, I promise” he warbled pitifully, once again curling over Snufkin, “You can’t leave us now. Your mummy and I love you so much, you know. You just have to- to-”

He hung his head, finally letting it sink into his heart like a leaden weight. He never thought he could love someone like this and now it was being torn away from him. 

Joxter quickly fell into heaving sobs, clutching what was left of Snufkin. The cup fell from his hand, clattering on the floor where the remaining potion seeped out into the floorboards, suddenly of very little importance despite the trouble of retrieving it. 

They sat shrouded in silence, so quiet you could drop a pin and hear it louder than a stampede of elephants. Joxter was sure Mymble could hear his heartbeat through his chest. She smoothed rolling rubs over his back, though he felt her hand quivering despite her best efforts. 

Just as he began to mourn, deeply, awfully, he felt a stir against his chest. So faint, he thought he was truly going mad and ought to be locked away. What was the point of living in a world like this?

But then it came again. 

His heart leapt to his throat but he didn’t dare look down, terrified of what he might see. Or rather, what he might not see. 

The whooping gasp of breath, however, had his full attention and trembling like a leaf, he chanced a peek. 

Joxter burst back to life in seeing the tiniest rise and fall in his son’s chest. He shouted, screamed, yelled his praises to any deity that would hear it. Tears fell freely down his face, but now they were full of anxious joy. 

Peach-pink flush came back into Snufkin’s cheeks, filling with life again as a wilted flower would do after a heavy rain. Joxter could barely restrain himself from spinning around in absolute rapture. His head was already dizzy from the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling. 

Mymble peered over his shoulder, trying to quell her sobs, already muted by the Joxter’s own love-filled laughter. He heard her gasp as she started to cry all over again and Joxter reached back to hold her against him, spreading little kisses down her face and neck. 

“I told you. He’s a strong one, my dear Mymble,” he smiled into her, all ill thoughts from before chased away by his bliss. 

Snufkin let out a tiny cry, splaying his arms and legs out feebly and then tucking them back into himself in the way a kitten might. 

“My boy,” Joxter cooed warmly, pressing his face against the sleeping child. 

~~~

“Where is he?!” 

Joxter rifled through blankets frantically, searching for Snufkin. 

The boy had been slow to heal, despite the magical elixir’s power, and Joxter had barely let him out of his sight. Snufkin still hadn’t been able to do much more than tottering around in short bursts. The possibility of him escaping his crib by himself was highly unlikely. 

Joxter’s heart pounded in his ears as he scoured the room for any signs of his child but the hunt yielded fruitless. 

Even upon asking his multitudes of older siblings, they held no answer for him. 

The Joxter had been so very careful. Exerting extraordinary amounts of caution to keep his son safe and from prying eyes. He had been held in the upstairs bedroom, where he and his Mymble could keep him near.

Nevermind Snufkin’s sad, longing glances to the window. It was for his own good, to be kept like such. Joxter wouldn’t risk losing him like that ever again, even if it meant his own wandering feet would be stuck in place. Anytime he got the itch to travel, he would look into Snufkin’s eyes and see the starlight flecks of gold the magic left him with, a reminder of how close they had come. The urge would quickly halt itself, simmering back to a deep ache in his gut. 

Early that morning, though, Joxter had caught Snufkin in his pitiful staring.  _ Perhaps some fresh air could do him good _ , he had thought while opening the window.

Joxter’s heart slingshot itself up to his throat where he choked on it. He raced to the ledge, nearly throwing himself out the opening in his haste. He searched the ground in terror, relief quick to wash over him when he saw the ground below was clear. 

He leaned back, ready to search the cupboards once again, when a sharp pain lanced through his hand. His head reeled with confusion as he plucked a large thorn from one of his paw pads. 

“Where in the world-?” he asked himself and as if on cue, he noticed the windowsill.

It was completely draped in nasty looking vines, all covered with the same thorns as the one in his hand. 

It could have been a hunch or maybe his Forebodings were making themselves known again, but he felt with growing dread that this was all to do with his son’s disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I cried writing this. Don't worry, Moomin will be in the next chapter and things shouldn't be quite as sad.  
> I hope you all like this. I have no specific plans but I'll try to keep updating regularly!
> 
> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @kuragehime for betaing this chapter for me and making this super gorgeous art. It's stunning, guys, please check this out!  
> https://kuragehime1.tumblr.com/post/190711785946/inspired-by-the-tower-by-feralbasilthief-3

Snufkin sat. And sat. And sat. He stood up, paced the floor a bit, and then sat some more. As much as his mother gave him to do, there was little that could relieve him of his relentless boredom when he was having such a long and rotten day. He yearned to do something but the loneliness and anxiety held him to an uncomfortable spot on the wooden floor. 

One would think he’d be more upbeat on the day before his birthday.

Maybe he would read a book or six later. He knew them all by heart but at least then he could stay in bed and wallow. 

He had given up on knitting his 39th scarf an hour ago when he had run out of blue wool. He requested his mother get more on her errand run, offering up a tiny sample to take with her to the village market. He wondered for the hundredth or so time what a market was like and if it was as full of cruel people as his mother often suggested. 

A light fluttering on his shoulder dragged him from his head. 

“Hello, little beast. What are you doing back here?” he asked without looking up. 

The dragon had taken a keen liking to his shoulder and, though he didn’t mind the company, Snufkin wondered why it kept returning. His friend let out a small noise of greeting, dropping something into his lap. 

Snufkin tilted his hat back from his face to see what present the dragon had brought him this time.

“Well, well,” he chuckled lightly, “What do we have here?”

The dragon let out a snort, backing away from its bounty. 

“Another card. Soon I shall have a full deck!” 

He smiled kindly, offering thanks for his gift. If he already had a couple stacks of playing cards stashed in one of his drawers, he wouldn’t tell the little beast. The ones it brought him were much prettier anyways, with ornate scrawlings of beautiful kings and queens. This time he received a King of Hearts card. 

Snufkin stood to put the card among his others, but another item fell off his lap with a clatter. 

“Why hello?”

The dragon growled and ruffled his wings indignantly.

“Sorry, I didn’t see it. No need to get worked up. What’s this?” he asked, trying to ease the beast’s upset buzzing. 

He squinted at the object: a silky silver ribbon no longer than the dragon’s tail, with decorative glass beads tied to the ends. Snufkin inspected it curiously. While pretty, it looked well-loved, like someone had cared for it greatly. 

“Oh dear, you didn’t take this from someone, did you?”

The dragon snorted rudely, scales rising in insult. Snufkin didn’t quite believe it’s sentiment. 

“Don’t go getting defensive. I don’t need you stealing for me,” he scolded.

The beast simply looked away with another growl. 

Snufkin sighed, done with the one-sided argument. Then his eyes lit up with an idea. 

“I’m sorry, thank you for the presents. How about a song, hmm?”

The dragon looked back at him, interest piqued but still reluctant. Snufkin knew he had it now.

“The bees will like it,” he smiled, pulling his harmonica from his pocket and waggling it in front of him like a treat. 

Finally, his little friend relented, trotting up excitedly in hopes that Snufkin’s singing would bring a delicious treat to it. The young boy held his hand out for the dragon to climb on and once it had, he raised it to the window sill. 

Snufkin blew a few notes to get in pitch and started to sing.

“Sjung du min dal, med brinnande röst…”

Below him, flowers broke from the earth, growing and dancing in the wind.

~~~

“I don’t know why we have to keep doing this,” Little My moaned, wrapping another reed in twine.

Moomin ignored her and continued to attach paper to the outsides of her handiwork.

“I mean, if they had gone and lost me, Mother probably wouldn’t have even remembered,” she complained, louder this time. 

“Shut up, will you! That’s an awful thing to say!” Moomin snapped, furrowing his brow. 

My went silent for the most part, only replying with an angry mutter. 

The Moominfamily had been living by the Mymble’s crowded cottage for years before Moomin was born. They were good company and he guessed it was his birthright to be saddled with the task of befriending the tiny, angry child that was Little My. It wasn’t too bad for the most part, besides her tendency to bite. This was always the worst time of year though.

Moomin had only been a year old when their neighbours’ son went missing, but the grief still ran almost as strongly as when it had happened. The Joxter had been stricken, riddled with a guilt so awful he had run off in a desperate hunt for the boy. Three years later, he’d come back empty-handed and a mere shell of the carefree traveller that Moominpappa always claimed he was. 

Every year since, he had rounded up all 36 Mymble children to make floating lanterns and release them on Snufkin’s birthday. 

He was determined to believe that his son would find a way back to him. 

The Mymble humoured him, though she didn’t participate herself. That was the one day of the year she would hole herself up in her room and ask to be left alone. 

The whole thing left Moomin a bit on edge. He wished he knew where the boy had gone and why he, of all creatures, disappeared. The Joxter seemed quite certain that his son hadn’t just escaped, but had been taken. 

“He wasn’t even a good brother. He was small and didn’t do anything,” Little My picked back up in her whining.

“You’re one to talk,” Moomin huffed.

He flicked his hand out for My to give him another reed frame.

“Another, please.”

“And Mother had to dote on him and his scruffy, poor excuse for a father. What about us, huh?”

“Another.”

“I bet a wild bird snatched him up.” 

“Another!” Moomin shouted, thoroughly irritated.

“Sorry,  _ pal _ .  _ We’re all out _ ,” Little My sneered, hopping down from her spot at the table and skittering into the shadows. 

Moomin muffled a scream as he bit into his tightly clenched fist. Sometimes she was such a brute! He had always felt terrible for the Joxter, losing his little one out a window. He didn’t blame him for being a wreck. Even Moominpappa and Moominmamma were distraught when they heard the news and would still get weepy when they watched the lanterns float into the night sky. 

She seemed not to care at all for her poor younger sibling or for keeping the illusion that he was still out there somewhere. Moomin detested her belief that she should have that right. 

Now in a very dreadful mood, he grabbed his basket, the one with his favourite ribbon tied to the handle and stomped out the door. 

The beads clacked with each step he took closer to the forest. He was glad to be out of the house. Although, he felt guilty for not writing a note to his mother. He doubted My would tell her where he had gone off to. Still, he couldn’t go back now. That would be terribly embarrassing. 

He would just have to keep a good pace to arrive home by dark. The moor he was heading to was a bit out of the way, but that was preferable. He needed to be alone to think and that was very hard in their tiny valley kingdom. 

Moomin walked for a while, not finding anything of much interest around him. He was angry and didn’t want to think about the flora and fauna. He tramped on the grass as harshly as he could. 

“How could she be so insensitive?” he asked the air.

Moomin sat down on his rump and unwrapped his ribbon from the handle. He toyed with it, swinging one weighted end around in a circle. 

“What am I to do?” he bellowed dispassionately. 

Sometimes one needed to complain out in the open.

“Answer me!” he shouted, voice echoing off the trees.

But with all he was yelling to receive some sort of response, Moomin definitely didn’t expect to get one by being hit over the head by something travelling very, very fast. 

“What was that!?” he asked, whipping around to see what had hit him. 

Had Little My followed him only to torture him more?

But instead of her typically high-pitched squabbling, a tiny growl answered him. Moomin’s eyes went wide with surprise.

“A dragon?” he said, bewildered and amazed.

He’d thought dragons had gone extinct many, many years ago. But here one was, staring him down with an angry look across its face. 

“You’re tinier than I would’ve imagined,” he chuckled, approaching the creature. 

The dragon let out a strange whirring noise from deep in its throat.

“Would you like to come home with me?” he whispered, feeling around for his basket as he trained his eyes on his target. 

With a sudden jolt forward, Moomin brought the basket down to capture the beast. 

“Gotcha!” he exclaimed triumphantly. He held his captive up in a great bout of joy but when he went to peer in for a closer look, he discovered the basket was completely empty.

Disappointment hit Moomin in the gut as he looked at bare wicker. He fixed the dragon with a fierce look. This wasn’t over yet. 

The beast swooped in, flying between his feet and throwing him off balance. It grabbed Moomin’s ribbon in its maw and sped away as fast as it had come. 

“Hey! That’s mine!” Moomin yelled after it, voice breaking as he sprinted to catch up.

The dragon did not stop, though. It continued its zigzagging flight through the woods, wings beating like a hummingbird. 

“Come...back...here!” he panted. It was no use, the dragon had disappeared into the foliage. 

Moomin stomped his foot, grinding it in the dirt. He heaved noisily, just so his frustration could be heard.

“That darn- Ugh! Stupid dragon! Probably thinks it’s special. Well, you aren’t!” he wrinkled his nose and stomped a couple more times for good measure. 

An unexpected noise caught Moomin’s attention. It rose well above his tiny fit. He swivelled his ears towards the sound and held his breath, trying to figure out what it was. 

“Is someone… singing?” 

He questioned his hearing, shaking his head as if there was something to dislodge from in his ears. The sound only became louder, stronger. Someone was definitely singing and Moomin swore it could have been the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. It was hard to make out distinct words but it lilted in such a way that it sounded full of sorrow and joy at the same time.

He took a step towards it, wanting ever so much to see the owner of said voice, but stopped himself short.

“Oh no, I know what this is! This is a trap by some siren!” he proclaimed, grabbing his tail in one paw. He tugged at it nervously, a bad habit for him. 

However, despite what he told himself, he knew there were no sirens so far inland. The idea that there might be was ridiculous. He was just too stuck in his own cowardice to be honest about it. 

Moomin grounded himself, one foot leaving and one foot drawing him closer to the singing, as he tried to rationalize either option as the better one. 

Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. If he would simply go home, he knew his ears would ache with the irresoluteness he caused himself. He had to know. 

With shaking paws, he pushed himself through thick foliage, following the sound. The trees and bushes were tightly packed and Moomin spat as leaves got in his mouth. It grew darker and darker as he shoved aside the plants. A large wall of rock closed itself around him into a cave. He was beginning to think there was no end and he’d simply be walking in the dark forever.

It was with quite a suddenness that the wall parted and the space opened up around him.

“Oh!”

The clearing was filled with colour. The grass grew in emerald green clumps and the sky above, though partially blocked by trees, contrasted against it in the brightest blue Moomin had ever seen. Flowers of every shape, size, and shade grew wildly, beautifully uncontrolled. And in the middle of it all, standing like a beacon out of a stormy sea, was a magnificent tower. It was covered thickly by vines of ivy and spotted near the base by white hydrangeas.

It was like walking into a dream. The lush grass was soft and tickled his toes as he padded closer, still following the magnificent voice that he now realized emanated from in the tower. He squinted, trying to catch any glimpse of whoever it is that might live in such a way, so far and isolated from the world. Even more strange was that the tower didn’t have a visible door of any sort. Moomin stared, perplexed by the scene. It seemed very much like the glade was growing right before his very eyes. He was beginning to think it wasn’t real at all.

But then a flicker of motion caught his eye.

“Hey! It’s you! Give me my ribbon back!” he shouted as the dragon flitted around the tower in circles at a dizzying speed. He made a dash towards the tiny beast but it bested him once again by shooting straight up into the window. 

“You little-!” his voice cracked and the meadow fell silent as he gawked. 

A boy stared back at him owlishly, tiny hands clasped firmly over his mouth. He was ever so pretty. Auburn locks and fair skin. Small, so unlike what Moomin would picture from his voice. 

“Oh, hello! Your- your singing! I heard it and- I just- it was... nice!”

Moomin groaned internally, embarrassment lancing him in the gut. The boy ducked back down, hiding somewhere beyond the view of the window. 

“I’m sorry if I frightened you! Please come back!” 

There was no response, though he swore he heard a harsh shushing noise from somewhere up above. 

“Your pet took my ribbon!” he tried once more.

This time the boy popped his head up, almost like a weasel. 

“Your ribbon?” the boy asked.

“Yes! It’s silver with little beads.” 

The boy turned back in through the window. At first, Moomin was worried he was being ignored, but then he quickly came back into view. 

“-shouldn’t take from people. Now look what you’ve done,” Moomin could hear him admonishing what he assumed was the dragon. 

It made Moomin wonder if he was all alone up there. 

“This?” the boy asked, holding up what was undeniably his ribbon.

“That’s it! Can you toss it down?” he shouted up, happy to be reunited with the small artefact. 

“Hold on,” the boy said, before leaning out of view. This time he held a fishing pole with a basket tied to the end. The boy carefully set the ribbon into the basket and lowered it down. As soon as Moomin collected his treasure, it was reeled back up and the boy once again disappeared into his tower. 

Moomin was a bit disappointed. He would have liked to talk or at least hear the boy sing some more, but what could he do? He lashed his tail behind him, slightly irritated as well. 

“I’m Moomin! What’s your name?” 

The boy was back at the window, curiosity unfolding on his features. His eyes darted around, dancing from place to place in little patterns. He sneered and then dropped it to purse his lips and then sneered again. Moomin watched with bated breath, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

The mix of emotions wiped completely from his face to be replaced with one big expression of fear. 

“Quickly, come up! He shouted as quietly as it seemed he could muster. 

Moomin flung his head back in the shook of it, eyes going wide and confused. 

“The vines!” the boy pointed frantically, “Hurry!”

Moomin blinked back his dazed feelings and fumbled up the vines with clumsy feet. They snapped under his weight and his paws pulled at leaves which broke off in clumps as he climbed. With a final big heave, he toppled into the tower. 

Moomin would have ogled at the interior forever if he wasn’t immediately and roughly shoved to the opposite side of the room. 

“In here! Be quiet!” the boy spat and with one last push, he was inside a small standing wardrobe. The boy slammed the doors shut and Moomin had to suck in a breath to keep his stomach from being squished. He heard the telltale click of the lock and for a moment, all he could hear was his own deafening breathing rattling in his ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for being so kind and lovely on my last chapter! Hopefully, this one was just as good. (Okay, perhaps it won't be but how can I beat angsty Joxter?) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is finally out! Struggled with the prose and characterisation for a while on this one, I'm sorry it took so long to update. <3

“There’s a person in my room,” Snufkin said, trying to snap himself out of his own shock. 

A real live person. Someone who stood and talked and- and now Snufkin had him hidden in his wardrobe among his linens and bedsheets. 

Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Snufkin paced the room, tail flicking anxiously behind him. He could’ve very well worn a hole through the floor. He pulled at the hairs on his head, fluffing them out every which way before squishing them back down with a sharp tug of his hat, coarse fabric not giving him enough comfort.

The dragon buzzed close to his head, trilling its own concern. 

“There’s a person in my room,” he repeated, anxiety rising in his chest like the beat of butterfly wings, “What am I going to do? If Mother finds out-”

“Snufkin!”

Snufkin’s heart promptly fell to his feet and he flung himself across the room in a desperate want to be hidden in some corner where he couldn’t be found. The dragon flitted out the window, leaving him alone in his very inconvenient accompaniment.

“Snufkin! I’m waiting!” the voice beckoned him again and Snufkin gritted his teeth against the shrillness of it. 

Padding to the window felt like wading through a thick sludge as he nervously glanced around the room in fear that some object might leap up and tattle on him if he hadn’t spotted it in time. 

“Coming Mother!” he choked out, cringing when it wavered more than he had wanted.

Reluctantly, he popped his head out of the window. His mother gazed back up at him, clearly annoyed.

“Hurry up! I’ve got something for you, dear,” she cooed, holding her produce basket up for him to see. 

With the knowledge that she would not relent, Snufkin wasted no time in setting to work. 

_ “Tyst dina heta sånger, sjung markens gräs…” _

As he sang, thick vines cracked from the earth and spread with magnificent speed. They twirled and twisted as Mother grabbed onto a sizable stalk and rode it skywards. Snufkin continued in his melody until his mother could walk up onto the window sill and into his tower with ease. He released a breath and the vines quickly withered and retreated back to the ground.

“Hello Mother,” Snufkin greeted her, though he kept his eyes cast to the floor. 

“Min blomma,” she smiled, “I’ve got a surprise here.”

She plucked out a couple balls of yarn from her basket with her sharp, narrow fingers, handing each of them to Snufkin as she did. 

“The market had a sale so I got you a few more. I know how you like to knit. Maybe you could put your talent to use for once and knit me a new shawl.” 

Snufkin tottered over to the nearest table where he dropped his load on the surface. Balls of yarn rolled and bounced to the floor. He watched them in mild disdain. He couldn't care less for knitting at that very moment. 

“Of course, Mother.”

She seemed pleased with his response and so made to sit down at the table, extending her hands out in front of her. Snufkin already knew what was coming next. 

“Sing for me, dear.”

It had been his routine for as long as Snufkin could remember. If he wasn’t so on edge, he would have already been sitting next to her without need to be asked. He scooted a stool to face her and took her hand in his. It was wrinkled and bony as it always would be at the end of a long and hard day.

_ “Blomma sprid din glöd _

_ Stark och intensiv _

_ Vänd på tidens lopp _

_ Och ge mig kraft och liv” _

His mother’s hand immediately filled with warmth and strength, flesh bubbled up with youth. Once he was satisfied she no longer looked or felt feeble, he stood back up to organise his spools, trying to keep facing away to hide his apprehension.

“I’ll be going out tomorrow,” his mother began, striding over to a nearby mirror to inspect her face. 

“Oh.. I-” 

Snufkin stared at his feet again. As much as the fear of his mother discovering his secret guest was at the forefront of his mind, he still couldn’t help but let a bit of disappointment creep into his voice.

“What is it?” she barked back, arching her eyebrows in the way that made her face appear painted on.

“It’s just… It’s my birthday tomorrow and-”

His mother cut him short with a finger to his lips. 

“Of course it is! Shoosh, shoosh, shoosh, dear!” she jeered and Snufkin wished she could just be a bit less blasé about it, “I was going to pick you up a birthday gift. Would you like some more yarn or books or something like that?”

Snufkin wrapped his arms around him. He knew what was to come, the routine they followed every year, but he still had to ask. Maybe this time would be different. He could only hope.

“Actually-”

“Or how about some fabric? You’ve been doing so much sewing lately. Maybe you could replace that dreadful hat of yours.”

“What I really want is-”

“I could always get you some new inks for your calligraphy.”

“If you could just listen-”

“Oh, whatever you want, min blooma. I’d do anything for my precious child.”

“I want to go see the lights!” he yelled, breaking his mother from her tirade. 

The look she gave him was quite enough for him to want to reel back the statement like it was strung to his fishing line. 

“Snufkin-” she nearly growled, eyes turning a cold, silt grey. 

“Please, Mother-”

“We’ve been over this, dear. Those are fireflies.”

“But they aren’t,” he cried, desperation turning to exasperation, “they’re more than that! I just know it! Let me go!”

His mother raised her lip in a nasty snarl and Snufkin shrunk back against her tall stature. She slammed her fist against a nearby desk, rattling it. It creaked as it tottered on it’s old, worn-out legs.

“Snufkin, you  _ know _ what’s out there. It isn’t safe. Those monsters will use you and when they have what they want: They. Will. Leave. You.”

She jabbed a sharp nail into his chest with each equally pointed word. Snufkin balled his hands into shaking fists, ready to retaliate but she continued.

“-or worse! How could I live with myself if I let you go out there and you got yourself hurt or killed?”

“Mother, please-” his mind flicked over to the closet, to how the boy had been anything but what he believed a monster to be.

For a moment, he thought, perhaps if she just saw the boy. But then fear took over. He was scared of what she would do if she didn’t want to listen. Instead, he ran to his desk and pulled out his stack of cards, the ones the dragon had brought to him, “-just look! There’s so mu-”

“Where did you get those?” his mother’s face fell in horror.

“-and how can we know-”

“Snufkin, where did you get those!?”

“That doesn’t matter, Mother!” Snufkin shouted, panting heavily, fueled by a sudden resentment toward her.

Flames enveloped his mother’s eyes, anger hot behind them.

“I am done with this conversation! You are  _ never _ to leave this tower!”

She snatched the cards from Snufkin’s paw and strode over to the hearth, holding them precariously above the fire.

“No! No, Mother, don’t! I’m sorry, I won’t ever ask again!” he begged thickly and desperately. 

“This is for your own good,” she stated, simply.

With that, she released her grip on his deck and the cards fluttered into the flames, floating down like leaves in the wind. Snufkin watched, frozen in place, as they were swallowed up by fire, curling in at the edges and then disintegrating into ashes. It stabbed him like a knife, twisting into his gut. He screamed. He wailed in gut-wrenching sobs as the cards rippled and fell apart in the heat. 

“I’m trying to protect you, min blooma,” his mother rubbed a soothing circle into his shoulder. Snufkin choked back more tears that threatened to fall, trying to clear his head. He quivered under her hand.

“You wouldn’t survive out there,” she cooed into his ear.

Snufkin’s lower lip wobbled.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. 

“I know I am.”

“Do you think you could get me some purple yarn? It would go so well with the blue you brought today.”

His mother stared him down, sceptical for a moment, before sighing and patting his head. 

“Of course, dear. I’ll have to head off straight away if I want to be back for your birthday dinner. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

She groomed his unruly hair with her fingers, trying to get it to stay flat.

“Of course, I’ll be up here waiting for you. I’ll bake us a cake to celebrate.” 

He gave his mother a small smile. 

“Alright then. Fetch me a basket and I’ll be off.”

Snufkin scurried around his room, putting together a tiny work basket to aid his mother in her journey. He topped it off with a couple of muffins he had baked earlier and a small cloth to keep any pests out. 

“Well, here you are! Stay safe!” he grinned, presenting his parcel.

“I love you, min blooma,” she called as she slipped out the window, locking it behind her before scaling the tower wall. 

“I love you too, Mother,” Snufkin said, voice breaking as it bounced around the walls. 

The room was bathed in inky darkness as the latch clicked into place. He peered out the crack between the shutters and let out a relieved breath when she disappeared past the rocky face of the cave.

As soon as she was out of view, Snufkin scurried over to the closet where he had left the person. He reached for the handle but paused just short, hesitant. The wardrobe let out a loud creak and if Snufkin listened hard enough he could hear the faintest sound of breathing. 

Suddenly, he was afraid, petrifyingly so. Opening that door was opening himself to something new. Something he longed for and dreamed about since he was a child and now he was scared. 

He stood, listening to the settling wood and the heavy breath, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just leave the creature in there though. 

He tested the handle, pressing on it ever so slightly and jumping back as if it would jump out and get him. When nothing happened, he neared again and twisted the key in the lock. It clicked into place and this time the door flung open. The person came toppling out, flopping onto the ground with a loud bang. 

“Ow!”

Snufkin stared with wide-eyes at the creature, not moving an inch as he sat up and rubbed at his injured snout. 

“I’m sorry- uh, thank- you.. Thank you for hiding me,” he dipped his head in thanks, fumbling with his big, white paws. 

“Yes, well, you should go now,” Snufkin said through tightly clenched teeth.

“Ah, okay…” he rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, “Could I come visit you again?”

“No.”

Snufkin felt his throat close up against his will. This was his chance and he was blowing it. The boy didn’t seem to have it out for him. He seemed kind and genuine and Snufkin doubted he knew of his powers or he’d have certainly asked about them by now. Yet his mother had warned him, so many times she had told him the evils that awaited him in the outside world. What if this was just a plot much like he had read in his books? 

He found himself regretting sending his mother away for so long. The decision was tearing him up inside as he watched the boy make his way to the window, pressing against the locked shutters.

“I know where the lights are. They’re lanterns, actually.”

Snufkin stood back at full attention. The boy had said it so casually, so off-handedly and Snufkin suddenly felt very small against it. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world and he just couldn’t see it. 

“You do?” he refrained from blurting out his excitement at the prospect. The only dream he could ever remember having and it was right here in front of him. He couldn’t dare to scare it off now. 

“Yeah, they set them out every year. Would you like me to take you to see them?”

Snufkin felt his heart pop like a balloon in his chest, overinflated with emotions so raw he swore he could feel each one rattling around inside of him. His walls collapsed around him.

“Yes,” he squeaked out, curling his toes up to keep himself from fainting, “if you could.”

“Of course!” the boy cried, seemingly delighted. The smile fell slightly as he looked back to the locked window, “If we can even get out of here.”

Snufkin waved a paw at him.

“That’s easy,” he said, crossing the room to get a metal poker from the fireplace. Snufkin gritted his teeth at the reminder of his burnt playing cards. 

“Here,” he trotted back over, brandishing the poker like a sword. He slipped the skinny metal end in between the crack. A few seconds of rattling and the latch came loose with a tiny clank. Snufkin swung the shutters open, closing his eyes to bask in the light of daytime. 

When he reopened them, his guide was already climbing over the ledge.

“-so why don’t you have a door?” he grumbled, grabbing a fistful of vines. 

Snufkin sat on the ledge himself, watching the poor boy struggle his way down. He swung his bare feet off the side, fanning out his toes to feel the breeze. The boy looked up at him expectantly. 

“No questions,” Snufkin tongue turned sharp in his mouth.

The boy fell silent for a mere few seconds before he once again filled the air with his pestering voice.

“Alright, but what’s your name?”

Snufkin rolled his eyes, “I said no questions.” 

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, trying to keep himself from saying more. After all, this person was supposed to be his guide and it wouldn’t do much good to upset him. 

He wasn’t swayed in his curiosity anyway so it didn’t matter in the least.

“I know what you said but I should at least know what to call you,” he pouted, “You know my name. It’s only fair.”

Snufkin flared his nostrils in agitation. 

“Snufkin.”

The boy tilted his head and Snufkin couldn’t help but feel he was being a bit slow.

“My name- it’s Snufkin.”

The boy’s ears immediately perked up and his tail flicked excitedly. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Snufkin. I’m Moomin but, of course, you know that already don’t you.”

Moomin grinned as he clambered the rest of his way down the tower side and jumped to the ground. Snufkin was a bit grateful for the reintroduction, though he tried not to show it. 

Slowly, he slid down, grabbing hold of the twisting vines as he had so often before in the comfort of his own room. Moomin waited patiently at the bottom, bouncing on his toes. Snufkin felt his stomach lurch and the closer he got to the ground, the more nauseous he felt. 

His whole life, he’d waited to see the outside world, but now that he was here, the thought was terrifying. He’d be going against everything his mother had taught him, everything he had known. He’d asked to leave so many times with the unending certainty that it would be everything he’d dreamed of. Now, he hesitated, wanting just as much to climb back up into the tower and forget anything ever happened. He could stay and his mother would comfort him and he could sing to her and then knit and read and bake and- he didn’t want that. He couldn’t want that now, so close to something new. There was no going back.

He reached out a toe, poking the grass. It tickled the bottom of his foot and he retracted. Moomin gave him an encouraging smile. 

The certainty came back to him, swelling full to crush his chest and leave him reeling. He planted a foot down. The grass was soft and wet, fresh with dew and cool on his skin. He gripped tighter to the vines, nearly retracting. He readjusted his foot and the ground squished pleasantly under his weight, incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before. Tentatively, he placed his other foot into the dirt. If he wasn’t still clinging onto the vines, he might have fallen over. 

Once again, he was stuck still in the moment. For so long the grass had grown up to the sound of his voice and yet this was the first time he was touching it, feeling it in between his toes.

It felt real, alive. He left.

He had left his tower and everything he knew and he was afraid and enchanted- full of bubbling, fizzing feelings exploding inside of him like bursts of flame.

“This is real, I really left,” he said to himself.

Moomin overheard anyways, “Of course it’s- wait, are you saying you’ve never gone outside?”

“I said not to ask questions,” Snufkin chastised, but he was too full and he couldn’t contain himself, “but yes! It’s beautiful-”   
He choked on his words and against his better judgement, tears leaked down his cheeks. He was practically vibrating with energy.

Moomin gave him a funny look, snout crinkling up with his goofy little smile, soft in every way imaginable and it took everything for Snufkin to hold onto the thread of fear he should have had with this perfect stranger. 

“Come on, I can show you something even better,” Moomin said, eyes aglow with something as radiant as the sunlight, and for some reason, Snufkin couldn’t help but believe him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter! I've been working on a ton of stuff behind the scenes that I can't wait to get out. 
> 
> Snufkin sings parts of "Törnrosdalens Frihetssång" and the Swedish version of Tangled's "Healing Incantation", if anyone is wondering! 
> 
> Always let me know what you think and thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> feralbasilthief.tumblr.com


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